In Which Combeferre Has a Very Bad Day Thanks to Courfeyrac
by Unicadia
Summary: Courfeyrac and Bahorel humorously, but good-naturedly, torment Combeferre and Jean Prouvaire.


**Hello! This is a very silly story; I have no idea if anyone will find it funny. Enjoy!**

 **Much love,**

 **Unicadia**

* * *

"Hey, Bahorel, wait up!" André Courfeyrac called as he ran out of the university. Everything seemed to be working in his favor today – clear, blue skies, classes let out early for some holiday he could never remember, and most miraculous of all, his friend Alexandre Bahorel actually showing up for class.

Bahorel stopped and waited for Coufeyrac, a bored expression on his face. "Yes?"

Courfeyrac put his arm around Bahorel's shoulders and whispered, "I got an idea for something we can do today."

"What?"

"It concerns our dear friend, Combeferre."

Bahorel smiled a little. "Go on."

Courfeyrac shook his head sadly. "Poor Combeferre. Always so serious. Always studying so hard. He's probably not even taking today off."

Bahorel's smile grew and he nodded.

"So, I say we go and try to loosen him up. Break that studious shell."

Bahorel's brown eyes flared with enthusiasm. "Yes! Make him do something he would normally never do!"

"Exactly. Now let's go find him."

They located Combeferre in the university gardens, sitting on a bench and reading a large book.

"Hello, Combeferre." Courfeyrac positioned himself in front of Combeferre so a nice long shadow fell across his book.

Combeferre, seeing he would have to give Courfeyrac his attention, closed the book and looked up. "Hello, Courfeyrac. Bahorel."

"Why are you sitting here like you're still in class when you've got the rest of the day free?" Courfeyrac snatched the book and flipped through it with a seemingly contemplative air.

"My exams are coming up."

"Oh, come on. You can study later. Let's go have some fun." Courfeyrac flung the book aside and he and Bahorel pulled Combeferre to his feet. "An outing; just us three bachelors, knocking about in Paris."

Combeferre frowned. "Courfeyrac. I'm married, remember?"

"Yeah, whatever. Let's go!" And they dragged Combeferre off the university grounds.

They stopped in front of a little street stand. "First up, Combeferre tries some new food!" announced Courfeyrac, shoving Combeferre into a rickety chair. "Have you ever had a crêpe, my dear Combeferre?"

"I don't need to answer that."

"Then how about bulots?"

"Uh . . ."

"Chef! Bulots for all!"

Courfeyrac and Bahorel watched Combeferre's face as he ate the winkles, but much to their disappointment, he remained as passive as ever. Worst of all, Combeferre's no-expression cost Courfeyrac more money than he cared to admit.

Next they hauled Combeferre to a café where Courfeyrac obtained a deck of cards for them. A dangerous gleam glinted in Bahorel's eyes as Courfeyrac doled out the cards for poker. "What will we bet?"

"How about nothing?" said Combeferre.

"But that's boring!"

In the end, though, Combeferre won, not only the argument, but also three consecutive games without doing anything more dramatic than little mouth twitches. As they left the café, Courfeyrac placed his hand on Combeferre's arm and said, "Why don't we try to find you a girlfriend? There's this beautiful, charming girl who-"

"Courfeyrac, I'm married."

Courfeyrac stamped the ground. "Why'd you have to get married so soon? This would have been fun."

"I have an idea," said Bahorel, who had lost interest in the conversation. "Let's go find Prouvaire and mess with him! He's probably at the Luxembourg Park."

"Yeah!" said Courfeyrac, brightening.

They found Jean Prouvaire in the park, sound asleep on a bench amongst a litter of papers. Courfeyrac took off his coat, soaked it in the fountain and squeezed it over Prouvaire, who woke up with a start. "My poem! You ruined it!" he wailed.

While Combeferre consoled Prouvaire, Courfeyrac and Bahorel discussed their battle plan. "This just isn't working," growled Bahorel. "You should've had Combeferre soak him."

Courfeyrac sighed. "That's the problem. I knew he wouldn't do it." Watching Combeferre and Prouvaire, a new idea sprang into his head. "Hey, I know," he whispered. "Let's douse Combeferre."

"Yes!" Bahorel snickered and rubbed his hands together.

Courfeyrac rewetted his coat and tiptoed behind Combeferre. Prouvaire saw him and pointed, but Combeferre turned too late.

"How do you feel, Combeferre?" said Bahorel, reaching over and squeezing a handful of his soggy comrade's blonde hair.

Combeferre rolled his eyes and managed a smile. "Fine. Just a little wet."

Bahorel groaned and flung his arms up. "Oh, come on!"

But Courfeyrac was not deterred. "I know what will dry you off. Let's race!"

This instantly got Bahorel's attention. "A race! Loser has to treat the others plus Prouvaire to dinner."

Prouvaire looked happier at this, and they appointed him the starter. Courfeyrac selected a nice flat stretch in the park, marked out the beginning and end, and they all took their places.

"Get ready . . . set . . . GO!" Jean Prouvaire almost screamed.

They streaked away, but Courfeyrac and Bahorel, certain of their success, laughed and knocked into each other and taunted Combeferre as he steadily ran ahead of them toward finish. It took Courfeyrac and Bahorel a full minute to reach the end after Combeferre, both laughing hysterically and accusing the other of making them lose.

At last catching his breath, Courfeyrac muttered into Bahorel's ear, "Ok, last resort. Let's push him into the fountain."

As they made for the park's exit, Bahorel turned and shoved Combeferre into the fountain basin. Combeferre looked ridiculous with his legs hanging over the side, and Courfeyrac and Bahorel took advantage of this by laughing noisily. Even Prouvaire giggled a little.

Combeferre sat up, his hair plastered to his forehead and his clothes soaked down to his knees. But alas, nothing but a wry grin broke the serenity of his face. "Well, now I see what you're doing, Courfeyrac. Hilarious. Now can we please stop this nonsense?"

Courfeyrac and Bahorel hung their heads. Their plot had failed. "Listen, I'll treat you all to drinks," said Bahorel, quite forgetting he was also going to treat them all to dinner. "Stay here. I'll just go run and get something from one of those vendors." Bahorel left, and the other three sat down on a bench. Prouvaire commenced to stare at nothing in particular, and Combeferre, utterly exhausted from the day's activities, fell asleep, his soggy head resting on Courfeyrac's shoulder. Courfeyrac absent-mindedly took the end of Combeferre's cravat and tied it to the bench.

Bahorel soon returned, somehow juggling four glasses of wine. "Here," he said to Courfeyrac, and dropped two of the glasses on Combeferre.

Combeferre awoke with a jump, the tied cravat tightening around his neck and making him slide halfway down the bench, his face red, his blue eyes bulging, his hands struggling at the cravat. Courfeyrac gaped, then quickly undid the cloth from the bench. Combeferre ripped the cravat off, breathing hard. Bahorel stared, still holding the other two glasses. Prouvaire had long since fainted, thinking Combeferre to be a goner.

Combeferre leaped to his feet, grabbed Courfeyrac by the collar, dragged him to the fountain and kicked him in. "I'll be at my house when you fellows are ready for that dinner you promised! And I'm bringing my wife whether you like it or not!" he bellowed, and stormed away.

But Bahorel and a very wet Courfeyrac exchanged triumphant grins before breaking into wild laughter.

 _Fin_


End file.
